Month: January 2018

It’s known amongst the circles that I mix in, that I rarely venture on the news sites, pick up the newspapers, or even watch the news these days. Full of manipulated propaganda, false news or simply shallow-shit, it’s a waste of my time. I can’t control what’s going on, neither can I have much of an influence. If any. However…

My new year’s resolutions, of which I usually create around 100 ( a mix of things I want to try, do, achieve, drop – and I usually hit 75% of them!), this year, includes

‘No negative talk or thinking EXCEPT when writing.

I get a kick out of making people cry when I write my books ( because of the storyline and trauma, not because it’s the crappiest thing the reader has ever read). And let’s be honest, I’m a 46-year-old, slightly bitter, massively cynical, middle-aged woman, single parenting two boy teens, one of whom is autistic and one of whom has an attitude. And to make matters worse, I’m attempting to give up my facebook addiction for everything but business; I’m rattling already!

I need an outlet.

So whilst I tackle my next couple of books (they are on the new years rezzie’s list too), I’m going to be using this as my space to vent. And I have got SO much venting to do! I’ve spent 6 years running from conflict, avoiding voicing any opinions in the fear that they might cause a who-ha. This world ( and my world), is so fucked up, and I, for one, have had e-fucking-nuff.

Only last week, I had a piece turned down by The Huffington Post, because it was ‘interview style’ and not a personal opinion. What was I writing about? It was an interview, with a mother, who lost her son over the Christmas period due to an aggressive form of brain cancer and how she dealt with it over the festivities – this year being her involvement in a nude calendar to raise money for a family cancer support establishment. But my piece wasn’t ‘opinionated enough’, in other words, it wasn’t a fire starter. Well, fuck you. there are thousands of families out there dealing with the same horrific circumstances who need to know that they aren’t on their own, who need to know that there are places such as the Aurora Centre in Worksop that they can go to. But apparently, they just aren’t exciting enough for the big press.

Apparently, the news they want is about armpit hair. should we grow it or should we not. I know people will be rolling their eyes at my shock and horror that when I ventured onto the Daily Mail after many years away, I was faced with a photo of Madonnas daughter, Lourdes, and her armpits.

Why is this news??????

Why am I surprised?

Did I really think that things would have changed since I last went on there? Actually, naively, I did. what an idiot I am! Am I really alone in not giving a flying fuck about this stuff!? I. DO. NOT. CARE. WHAT. ANYONE. DOES. WITH. THEIR. ARMPIT. HAIR!

When did the world become somewhere that cared about this stuff?

Sometimes I look on, at everything going on about it, and I feel like an alien. I don’t understand or connect with the way the world functions today, nor do I want to. I battle with the need to reminisce and pine over yesteryear because it was better. Not different. Better.

Coming soon:

Do I name and shame the ex who has paid no fucking maintenance but brags to his kids about the great deal he got at his local golf club?